"I did and that was clearly a mistake."
I dart around him, but he follows.
We reach the chalet and I punch in the code, stepping inside without answering. The warmth from inside the cozy space hits my face the moment I walk in and then I shrug off my jacket.
"You really left because of her?" he presses. "I didn’t think you were someone who let things get in your way."
"Don’t."
"Don’t what?"
"Don’t make this about me being jealous."
"I didn’t say jealous… you did," he says. "Were you?"
I spin back toward him.
"You don’t get to parade a woman around to prove a point. If you think I didn’t notice that you brought her closer so that I would overhear your conversation, then you don’t know me well enough. I know your strategy. What I don’t know is how this is helping you at all. How does asking me if I’m jealous help me do my job? You’re my client."
"I already told you, Natalia, I’m not your client."
I roll my eyes. "You absolutely are."
"I’m not."
I shut my eyes for a beat, forcing my hands to unclench at my sides, trying to hang onto professionalism when this feels like anything but. "I’m not playing games with you tonight. Just go back to your friend."
As I turn to leave, his fingers wrap around my wrist, gentle but firm enough that I stop.
I look down at his hand. Then up at him.
"What are you doing? Go back to the bar."
"I will, after you tell me what you came to talk to me about."
"Let go, Luka." I warn.
"I will if you want me to, but I have a feeling that you don’t."
There's a difference in the way that he's staring back at me—a shift happening between us that I can't quite grasp. I could pull away, but I don’t and he recognizes that too.
My heart is beating too fast for someone who insists she’s not jealous, and yet, jealously doesn't truly name the feeling. It's confusion, and want, and annoyance that we can't even seem to be on the same page, and a mix of so many other emotions tied in that I keep them all straight.
"I was going to ask you something," I admit.
"What was it?"
My throat tightens. I hate that I’m about to say this. That I’m going to admit something that might have all been a figment of my imagination. Something that can’t happen between us, anyway.
"I was going to ask if you were going to kiss me yesterday… on the ski slope when you caught me from falling."
His expression shifts. It’s subtle, but it’s also real.
"What if I were?" he asks quietly.
I swallow, my gaze betraying me as it dips to his mouth. I hate that I’m picturing what it would feel like to be pulled against him, what his lips would taste like if I stopped thinking and just leaned in. The slow drag of his teeth over my lower lip. Because I already know Luka wouldn’t be gentle.
Heat curls low in my stomach at the thought. An inconvenient at this moment, since the space between us is shrinking by the second. I can’t tell if he’s leaning in or if I am. Maybe it’s both of us surrendering an inch at a time.
